


we were always parallel

by onepercent



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining Combeferre, Roommates, established exr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercent/pseuds/onepercent
Summary: When Combeferre moved in with Courfeyrac, he was expecting exuberant parties or loud music—he definitely wasn’t expecting to fall in love with him.





	we were always parallel

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in uuuh one sitting and as usual the only person who’s seen this is me so all mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> Inspired by a passage I had to read in my test prep class that I can’t seem to find now and also by the song “Asymptotic” by Louie Zong, which this is named after. It is currently my favorite thing ever and I highly recommend you give it a listen.
> 
> Also I’m not as die hard for this ship as I am for exr so if its a little OOC then I take full responsibility.

Combeferre didn’t believe in fate very much, but even he could admit that the ad in the newspaper had to have been some form of divine intervention. He had been apartment hunting rigorously in his spare time for the past month, as his previous roommate and best friend, Enjolras, had finally decided to move in with his partner across town at the end of the month. This wasn’t necessarily a huge problem; Enjolras had offered to continue paying his portion of rent if Combeferre couldn’t find a new place before the lease was up, and he sent emails full of ads and links and phone numbers to Combeferre during his lunch break. While these efforts were very much appreciated, an actual place suitable for Combeferre to live seemed to be a real needle in a haystack. They were either too expensive, too small, too many roommates, or all of the above—that’s why the ad in the newspaper was so, well, revolutionary. 

ROOMMATE WANTED!  
2 bed, 1 bath, laundry+wifi included. €1,100/mo. My previous roommate ditched me for his girlfriend (sad face), but that means you now have the opportunity to have me as your awesome roommate (happy face)!!!!   
\------ de Courfeyrac  
Contact me: xxx-xxx-xxxx  
courfieworm@gmail.com

It seemed too good to be true. The rent was cheaper than what he was currently paying with Enjolras, and he’d only have one roommate, and he wouldn’t have to walk three blocks to the laundromat every weekend. Plus, this de Courfeyrac guy seemed relatively nice and not serial-killery based on the ad, so he sent him an email. He checked it the next day during breakfast, and sure enough his inbox was full of pictures of the place and an invitation to come see it in person. He accepted, obviously. The apartment was exactly like the pictures, with no mysterious stains or suspicious smells, and it was in a relatively good area where Combeferre probably wouldn’t get mugged on his walk to the subway. Courfeyrac was as bubbly in person as on paper, and he seemed very accommodating and welcoming. It was kind of a dream. 

A very sweaty dream at that, thought Combeferre, lying face-up on his newly-moved mattress. The only downside of the place, he had soon realized, was its lack of elevator. Courfeyrac, whose short stature easily concealed his impressive natural strength, had helped him a great deal in moving all his boxes and furniture; the help was greatly appreciated, especially since they were on the second floor.

He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, lost in thought, when Courfeyrac knocked on the open door to his bedroom and leaned casually on the jamb. 

“Are you too tired to go out?” he asked with a quirky smile. “I know a really great Mexican place a few blocks away, if you wanted anything for dinner. I know you haven’t eaten, and it’d be nice to get to know the area, don’t you think so?”

Combeferre sat up. “Sure,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes glimmered. “It’s my pleasure, I assure you.”

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac got along astoundingly well. Courfeyrac was incredibly curious about Combeferre’s internship at the pharmacy, and Combeferre listened diligently to Courfeyrac’s various anecdotes about law school and his previous roommate, Marius. Their meal passed in a blur and sooner rather than later they were continuing their discussion well into the afternoon. 

Combeferre liked Courfeyrac a great deal, and this admiration only grew as days turned into weeks turned into months. He was kind and funny, intelligent but not too serious. When he was out—which was often—he always invited Combeferre, who in turn always declined, though he appreciated the gesture immensely. Courfeyrac had many friends and many stories to go with them, and did not hesitate to entertain Combeferre with his tall tales of bad, late-night decisions featuring alcohol most prominently and, as to be expected, the police secondly so. Courfeyrac always put forth a cheerful and friendly demeanor, and there was always a twinkle of mirth in his eye, as though he were always planning a mischievous prank on Paris. 

A good while after Combeferre had moved in, Courfeyrac barged in and dangled a single key from his pinkie. 

“Guess who has the key to the top of the building now,” he boasted, twirling the key between his fingers. 

“Probably you,” said Combeferre dryly, barely glancing up from his textbook and pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

Courfeyrac bounded over and grabbed Combeferre’s arm, tugging him up from his chair and away from his book. “You got it!” he exclaimed. “Come on, let’s go up there, the girl who gave it to me says there’s a fucking grill up there, we can grill shit, dude!” 

“You almost burnt the whole building down last week when you tried to make a quesadilla,” reminded Combeferre, though he didn’t put up a whole lot of resistance to Courfeyrac’s insistent pulling on his arm. 

Courfeyrac talked the entire way out of the apartment and up the stairs, describing in detail how he could now take full advantage of his roof privileges. Combeferre, not usually a talker, appreciated Courfeyrac’s almost stream-of-consciousness way of speaking, and was content to just let himself be led up the many, many flights of stairs. 

The roof was...underwhelming, to say the least. There was indeed a grill, but it looked like it hadn’t been used in over a decade, and the few lawn chairs scattered about had definitely seen better days. The concrete was cracking in many places, and the whole space just felt like it was falling apart. Yet the breathtaking view of Paris at dusk certainly more than made up for it. The sun was nearly set just over the horizon, and its last streaks of pink and orange blazed over the quickly approaching purple sky, casting long dark shadows across the old city. The moon was high and pale, and the few stars usually visible started to twinkle coyly. 

Combeferre breathed out a stricken sigh, forgetting all about his studying and responsibilities. “Woah,” said Courfeyrac before running to the edge, as if a few metres could bring him any closer to the painted sky. “I can’t believe I’ve never been up here before.”

Combeferre just hummed his agreement, taking his spot next to Courfeyrac. The night wasn’t quiet—the sounds of the city wafted up to meet them, but all Combeferre could hear was his own light breath. 

They watched as the sun fully set over Paris, succumbing to a blanket of cold stars. They did not speak, neither feeling they had much to say; rather, they were content to stand there, shoulder to shoulder, and warmer than the cool night air should have allowed. Courfeyrac watched diligently, never taking his eyes off the world around him, but Combeferre got distracted halfway through, and spent the whole time pretending he wasn’t admiring the glow of the pale moonlight reflected on Courfeyrac’s smooth skin. 

 

It became somewhat of a ritual after that. Every other night or so, Courfeyrac would drag Combeferre up the stairs to the roof, where they would watch the day melt like chocolate into the night. Sometimes they talked, about anything and everything, but sometimes they were silent, just like that first night. Combeferre liked those nights the best—they could just stand and let the world go by, enjoying each other’s company. It was mostly comfortable, and though sometimes Courfeyrac would catch him staring (embarrassingly enough), he just smiled and went back to watching the clouds drift. It was profoundly intimate, and Combeferre treasured his memories of Courfeyrac’s awed face at the orange sunset each evening, and the subsequent soft smiles Combeferre knew were only for him. He always went to sleep content those nights, feeling like the whole world spun just a bit slower for him and Courfeyrac on their little roof. 

 

Needless to say, Combeferre’s little crush was getting a little out of hand at this point. He was never a talker, but somehow Enjolras managed to coax out all of the details over one of their standing weekend brunch dates. 

“I feel weird having you be so in love with him without me ever having met him,” mused Enjolras. “You knew Grantaire for years before we ever get together.”

“You can come over this evening if you’d like,” replied Combeferre. “I was going to make dinner tonight anyways.”

“Alright,” said Enjolras, taking an absent-minded bite of his french toast. “I hope he likes politics. You know, I read this really interesting article the other day about…”

Combeferre let his best friend prattle on with a smile, unwilling to let on that he was the one who sent him that article in the first place. 

 

Dinner went thankfully well. Combeferre prepared eggplant parmesan that both Enjolras and Courfeyrac complimented him on. They made nice conversation over the food, and Enjolras seemed to enjoy the company, which was a relief. Enjolras was generally picky about who he chose to hang around, and Combeferre felt that if Courfeyrac could pass that test, then he surely was as good of a person as he came off as, and Combeferre could move on with his plan. That plan, of course, being his plan to ask Courfeyrac out. Enjolras would leave to go back home, Combeferre and Courfeyrac would head upstairs to watch the sky settle, and Combeferre would catch his roommate’s eye. Courfeyrac would smile one of his soft smiles and bump their shoulders together, and Combeferre would bump him back and ask him out on a date, and Courfeyrac would say yes. At least, Combeferre was pretty confident that’s what would happen. He had briefly thought about what would happen if Courfeyrac didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but then he would remember the night after night of endless talking about everything they could think of, or, alternatively, the times where they would just sit and enjoy the other’s warm company; it was hard to reason that Courfeyrac didn’t like him even a little. 

Enjolras’ phone buzzed, and he took a last sip of his wine before standing up. “I believe that’s my cue to leave,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket and walking to the front entrance. Combeferre got up and grabbed his friend’s coat from the closet by the door, and Enjolras shrugged it on. He was about to open the door and bid his friend goodbye when Courfeyrac came up behind them. 

“Hey, before you leave, I have something super cool to show you,” he said, pulling on a pair of slippers. He grabbed Enjolras’ elbow and started pulling him out the door and up the stairs. “I got ahold of the key to the roof a while ago and me and Combeferre have been…” He talked on enthusiastically, and even Enjolras, who could rant a mile a minute, seemed to have a bit of trouble keeping up. They eventually made it to the top, and Courfeyrac threw open the door for Enjolras and Combeferre. 

They had just passed sunset a few minutes ago, but a few stray strands of pink still lit up the mostly dark sky, broken by the light of dozens of glimmering white stars. “Wow,” said Enjolras, leaning over the edge. 

“I know right,” said Courfeyrac, facing Enjolras with a soft smile. “I’ve been meaning to spice the place up a bit with actual functioning chairs, maybe use the grill, and invite some friends over to just kick it, you know, but I always manage to get sidetracked watching the sunset, and Combeferre is hardly any help, either; I think he’d be okay just standing out here in the cold for hours!” He laughed and Enjolras chuckled, too. Combeferre smiled weakly, feeling suddenly like he very much wanted to go inside and go to bed and never come out from under his blankets again. “I mean, places like this were just meant to be shared with everyone, you know? You can see everything from up here, and the night sky is just so beautiful, even if you can’t see so many of the stars…” He continued on, Enjolras nodding him along before his phone buzzed again. Combeferre and Courfeyrac led him back down the stairs and on his merry way back home before going up one last time back to their apartment. 

“You alright there, ‘Ferre?” asked Courfeyrac as Combeferre messed with the lock before pushing the door open. 

“Just a little tired, that’s all,” replied Combeferre, sliding his shoes off on the mat. 

“Well, get some good night’s sleep, then,” said Courfeyrac with a soft smile—and how selfish Combeferre now realized he was, to think Courfeyrac would reserve such a thing only for him, his introverted, bookish roommate who only left the house to go to work or the library. “Goodnight, Combeferre.”

“Goodnight,” said Combeferre. He closed the door to his bedroom, and he did not get a good night’s sleep at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated as always. If you liked it even a little but consider dropping one—they make my day, I promise.


End file.
